Lyrics:

Never Weatherbeaten Saile
Thomas Campion, First Book of Ayres 1613

Never weatherbeaten saile
More willing bent to shore
Never tyred Pingrim's limbs
Affected slumber more;
Than my wearied spright now longs
To fly out of my troubled brest.
O come quickly sweetest Lord,
And take my soule to rest. Ever blooming are the joyes
Of Heavn's high paradice,
Cold age defeats not there our eares,
Nor vapour dims our eyes;
Glory there the Sun outshines,
Whoose beames the blessed only see:
O come quickly glorious Lord,
And raise my spright to thee.